The Silver Lion
by KTA99
Summary: In Val Royeaux, a year before the Fifth Blight, a party of unlikely heroes must rise to their circumstances when a mysterious Dalish elf recruits them for a mission on her behalf. Based on a game of the Dragon Age tabletop game with Mythic GME. Rated T for language and (eventually) violence and non-explicit sexual content.
1. 1: Sowing the Seeds of Destiny

**AN: This story is a bit of an experiment, and as such, it could go on indefinitely or I could give up on it after a month. I'll do my best, but temper your expectations. This story is an ongoing solo game I'm playing using the official Dragon Age RPG and Mythic GM Emulator. It's sort of like an actual play converted into conventional prose. This means that I only know more of the story than you, the readers, because I have a backlog. Hopefully it works out!**

* * *

Dramatis personae

Tarsian Aventus: A member of the Tevinter lower class of mages, the Laetans, he took to traveling Thedas after the deaths of his parents.

Garrick Joyse: The scion of a wealthy Gwaren merchant family, his parents were able to use their social connections dating back to the occupation to gain him a spot in the University of Orlais, usually exclusive to nobles.

Katari: A Tal-Vashoth mercenary, she is known for her honor and ethical code, but also her brutality in combat.

Revashiral: A former elven slave in Tevinter, he has spent almost a year fleeing further and further south, but the end is now in sight.

Syora: A beautiful but enigmatic Dalish elf.

Korinne Tettingen: The daughter of an Ander Grey Warden and a student of the University of Orlais.

* * *

12 Cloudreach, 9:29 Dragon

Val Royeaux, Orlais

The Silver Lion was a tavern in Val Royeaux. To all appearances, it was nothing special. It made a profit and was free of violence despite its location in a bad neighborhood near the elven alienage, but that was its only real unique feature as far as its patrons were concerned. To them it was just an ordinary bar, maybe even a good one, but one that could easily be replaced by a dozen others in the city.

This night, however, was a bit different. This night, destiny – or chance – had other plans. This night the tavern would host individuals of extraordinary potential and set them on the path to greatness.

Of course, none of the Silver Lion's denizens knew this was the case that night. But in the future, some would reflect on it and realize that this was the moment it all began.

"An ale for me and one for my friend here, serah."

These words came from a young man, no more than 25, in perfectly understandable if undeniably accented Orlesian. The man was slim but lithe and athletic. He had dark brown hair cut short and a beard clipped to a similar length.

"Do you plan on actually paying for your drinks today?" asked the bartender. If the bartender had a name, he never went by it to any of his patrons. Some tavern rumormongers claimed that even his wife called him "bartender". Others didn't even believe he had a wife.

"I always pay my debts. Eventually."

"Mmhmm."

Even if he didn't act like it, the bartender knew Garrick was a good kid. He may have been Fereldan, but at least he didn't have the arrogance that characterized so many of the University of Orlais's students. Or at least not as much of it. He began pouring out two ales.

"How I enjoy hearing other people talk in languages I don't understand," came the dry remark of Garrick's companion.

He seemed a bit older than Garrick, perhaps in his early 30s, though it was hard to tell because he had shaved his head. He was also clean-shaven, though he had at least a day's worth of stubble. He was tall and thin, with pale skin and bright, piercing blue eyes. He was dressed in a simple black cloak and had a wooden staff tied to his back.

"We've been here twice before, and I explained it. He doesn't like to be addressed in the King's Tongue, or any language besides Orlesian."

"But he does speak it?"

"As far as I'm aware."

"And he has no problem with it being spoken in his presence?"

"Look, I'm not inside his head. I just buy drinks from him. When someone gets to be that old, you have to accept a lot of quirks from them. I had this great-aunt who-"

"Drinks done," the bartender interrupted, sliding two mugs of ale across the bar to the pair.

"Most of his patrons actually live here. It's not so much of an issue for them," Garrick said.

"Well, I don't."

"Obviously. All I'm saying is it's not as big a deal as you're making it out to be."

"Fine, fine, whatever. Now, I believe you said there was a reason you invited me here. Something you wanted to talk about?"

Garrick nodded and seemed to think for a few seconds.

"All in good time, my friend from the land of the magisters."

"Please don't call me that."

"It's true. Ah, but whatever. Like I was saying, we'll get there. This city is full of Orlesian pricks –" As an aside, he said to the bartender in Orlesian, "Present company excepted, of course – and pigheaded nobles of all stripes. This is one of my escapes. The conversation will still be there in five minutes, so let's just drink a bit."

"Well, if you're paying, I can't really say no."

"I'm paying for the _first_ round. No guarantees after that."

"Still better than if I came here alone. Now, if we're not getting to the point here, what were we talking about last time…"

Garrick raised his glass and Tarsian clicked his against it.

"I think you were mentioned the girl you've been seeing," Tarsian continued. "Something about writing your parents about her. Did anything come of that?"

Garrick looked like he felt a bit awkward at this question. He quashed his discomfort with a gulp of ale.

"Not yet," he admitted. "I just have a weird feeling about the whole situation. My parents aren't exactly die-hard pro-Fereldans, and I wouldn't call them overbearing, but still…"

"Yes, well, if you're looking for relationship advice, look elsewhere. I've heard bartenders are good for that."

Around that time, an elf began approaching the pair. He was clearly tipsy, but still had all his physical and mental faculties together. The elf was powerfully built despite his short stature. He had a short dagger sheathed to his hip – the only weapon an elf was allowed to carry in Orlais. The sharp features of his face were framed by a long scar running along the left side and marred by the fact that his nose had clearly been broken at least once before. His unkempt dark blond hair reached his shoulders. He wore an enormous pack on his pack that clearly looked full to capacity.

"You."

The elf was pointing a slightly shaky finger at Tarsian's back. The pair of humans turned around incredulously.

"I've been watching you since you got here. Your accent, your appearance, your bearing… You're a Vint, aren't you?"

Tarsian raised a single quizzical eyebrow.

"I'm afraid I don't understand the question.

"A Tevinter, you ass!" the elf responded angrily. "I can practically smell one of you at this point."

"And what of it?" Tarsian asked, his eyes narrowing in annoyance.

"Does the name Almadrius mean anything to you?" The question was asked coolly, without anger, but with a clear edge to the voice.

Tarsian thought for a moment.

"There was an archon by that name a millennium and a half ago. Since then, it's been reused as a name, probably currently held by a magister or two, but I never knew anyone with it. Was there a reason to your question, or do you just enjoy harassing strangers with trivia?"

"Huh."

The elf seemed relieved, but also somewhat disappointed.

"He's trying to kill me. Or at least, I can only assume he is. There aren't too many Vints around here. I hear one talking while I'm there… well, I can't take the chance on coincidences. I have to see if he's found me. But I suppose not."

The elf turned on his heel and began to walk back toward his table.

"Excuse me!" Garrick said in a raised voice. "Are you going to apologize to my friend and me for making false assumptions and waste our time?"

The elf stopped but didn't turn back around.

"No, I'm not. Have a problem with that?"

"I do, actually. Look at me when I talk to you!"

"No."

Garrick stood up from his seat and took a few steps forward when the bartender's voice interrupted him.

"There's no fighting in here, gentleman."

After several seconds of glaring, Garrick relented and told the elf, "I imagine you don't speak Orlesian, so let me tell you. I'm stopping because of him. Not you."

Without another word, the elf started walking again and sat back down.

Around this time, the tavern door opened forcefully, and a large, muscular grey-skinned woman stepped through. She was tall enough, probably close to seven feet, that she had to duck to get through the doorframe. She had a pair of curved horns about a foot long and white hair tied into a short ponytail. The woman scanned the room with slightly oversized yellow eyes.

"Who do I need to talk to to get a drink in this place?" she asked the room.

After a long, silent moment, a barmaid nervously raised her hand.

"The, ah, the bartender does not like to be talked to in the Trade Tongue. I can get your order taken."

"Wonderful. Find the biggest mug or flagon you have in this building and fill it with some really cheap, shitty beer. Then bring it to me."

"Yes, of course."

The woman walked over to one of the few empty tables in the room and sat down. Everyone adjacent scattered to fill whatever gaps were in the rest of the room or just left.

Ever since she walked through the door, Tarsian's eyes had been locked on her. He had a look of focus, bordering on anger, on his face.

"Are you all right?" Garrick asked.

Tarsian finally broke his gaze and shook his head.

"She's Qunari."

"Well… obviously. Bad blood there? Or what?"

"Something like that. I'd never seen one before, but I've heard a lot about them. Not just the propaganda they teach in school. I have friends and family… well, had family, in the army. They've killed a lot of my countrymen. But you don't usually see them down here. Maybe a scout… or a spy."

"Well," Garrick retorted, "unless you're planning on murdering her in the middle of a crowded bar, there's nothing either of us can do about it."

Garrick motioned for a refill of their drinks.

"Excuse me," came an unusually accented voice from behind the pair.

With a sharp sigh, Garrick turned around in his seat to look at the new figure addressing him. He saw a gorgeous red-haired elven woman with complex designs adorning her face. Garrick recognized them as the _vallaslin_ blood tattoos used by the Dalish, a very unusual sight in Val Royeaux. At least it explained the accent.

"If you're with the other elf who tried to talk to us, tell him I don't care. I've calmed down and now I just want to drink in peace."

She laughed softly.

"No, not at all. I've been watching you. You're some of the most interesting people in here. And interesting people are exactly what I'm in need of right now."

Garrick scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"Are you trying to solicit me or recruit me? For the latter, I'm a student, not a mercenary. For the former, I'm taken, thank you very much.

The woman nodded dismissively and turned to Tarsian.

"And what do you think of this?"

"I've been known to do an odd job or two from time to time to make ends meet. Usually not from random people who approach me in a bar, but, ah…" He shrugged. "It would depend on the details."

The woman shifted to once again address both of the pair.

"Let me tell you something. Everyone has an angle, and my story has something for all of them. You want money? A chance to be a hero? Glory? Well, maybe not so much the last one. But I have a lot to offer."

Garrick regarded her skeptically.

"With all due respect, serah, even if we were interested, why are you recruiting for your quest by approaching random strangers in a tavern?"

"I have my reasons," she responded noncommittally.

Garrick cast an aside glance to Tarsian.

"I'm sure you do. Maybe not good reasons, but it's a rare individual that acts without any reason whatsoever."

"Is that a no?" she asked.

"It's an 'I'll think about it.' Are you in a rush?"

"Well, yes and no. But I won't need you to make a decision in the next few minutes. Here, take this."

She drew two slips of paper from her pocket and handed one to each of Garrick and Tarsian.

"Keep it in mind. That's all I'm asking."

The woman slunk away as Garrick examined the parchment. On it was written an address, the words "Noon tomorrow (13 Cloudreach)" and a one-word signature, "Syora".

"Right," Garrick muttered. He turned to Tarsian and said, "Well, it's been long enough. I think you're going to like this…"

* * *

Meanwhile, the elven woman, Syora, was on the other side of the tavern, walking toward the elf who had confronted Tarsian earlier. He was sitting alone at a table with a bottle of cheap wine and half a dozen shot glasses.

"Hello there. I've been watching you," she said to him in Orlesian.

He raised his gaze just enough to see her.

"I can't understand a word you just said," he responded in Tevinter.

She just stood and stared at him for a few seconds.

"We all speak the Trade Tongue here. Unless you don't, in which case this is going to be a very boring conversation. What did you hope to accomplish by speaking to me in Orlesian?"

"I thought it was a fair assumption. Most people living in the city can speak the language. But it seems as if the tavern is full of foreigners tonight… no offense."

He gave Syora a withering look.

"It's worse that you thought I was Orlesian. Accurately calling me a foreigner isn't an insult. Although I'm surprised a Dalish would describe things in those terms."

"I'm not Dalish anymore," she responded uncomfortably.

With a dark chuckle, the elf retorted, "Well, you're not going to be considered Orlesian anytime soon either. Not that I would complain. This is the worst place I've been in since Tevinter. The only saving grace is," he pointed at his drink, "the wine, and I heard that's actually Antivan. Now, was there a reason you approached me?"

Syora nodded.

"Right, right. There's an issue that I need skilled help with. It's dangerous, and quite important, but it's also potentially very rewarding. I thought you looked like you could handle yourself, so I thought I'd ask."

His interest piqued, the elf turned his full attention to Syora.

"Is that so? Well, I'm currently… not _quite _sober enough to decide that, and, Maker willing, I'll be out of this shithole the moment a ship arrives that can take me further south. I hope whatever your problem is, it can fit into my unique schedule."

"Well, we'll see."

She handed him one of the same slips of parchment she'd given Garrick and Tarsian.

"I hope to see you again."

He gave her a half-hearted wave as she walked away.

* * *

After drifting through the tavern a few minutes, Syora approached the Qunari woman, who was currently guzzling beer from an oversized mug. All eyes in the vicinity were on the Qunari, who seemed slightly annoyed, but not surprised, at her frosty reception. When she saw Syora approaching, the Qunari perked up and actually spoke first to her.

"Finally, someone who's not afraid of me in this city! Come on, sit down."

Somewhat hesitantly, Syora did sit down across the table from the Qunari.

"So, what brings you to talk to the big scary ox-woman?"

"Well, you're… very interesting."

"If that's some kind of come-on, I'm sorry to say we're just not compatible."

With a look halfway between annoyance and embarrassment on her face, Syora replied, "No. I just have one of those ways of speaking, it can… mislead people unintentionally."

"Well, good," the Qunari said, "then what did you mean?"

"For one thing – not the only thing, but a major part – I've never seen a Qunari in person before."

"And you still haven't," she said with resigned annoyance. It sounded like something she'd had to explain a hundred times. "I'm not Qunari. Not anymore."

"Ah, a human with horns, then?"

She let out a sigh.

"Qunari means 'follower of the Qun'. It's an ideology. Or a religion, if that makes more sense to you. Not a race. I haven't been a Qunari in over five years. Now, if you're satisfied with your vocabulary lesson, maybe we can move on to something that actually matters."

"Was there something you had in mind?"

"Introductions would be a good start. I am Katari, a Tal-Vashoth. And you are…?"

"You can just call me Syora."

"Well, Syora, why don't you drink with me? I have a long-standing boast that I can drink any human, elf, or dwarf under the table, and I always like a chance to test it."

After a moment's thought, Syora gave a nod.

"I haven't drunken to excess in far too long. You're on."

"Well, we're going to need something stronger than this. This stuff will make me need to piss before the alcohol gets to me. Hey, you! Get us something stronger. Nothing fancy, just some get-drunk-quick liquor."

A terrified barmaid rapidly nods her head and rushes over to the bar. She returns quickly with a bottle and two shot glasses. With a grin, Katari pours out two shots.

"You know, I'm probably twice your size. You want me to double up? Make it fair?" Katari asked.

"No, no, I can handle my drink. And you're at a handicap since you've already been drinking," Syora insisted.

Katari shrugged.

"All right, then, I suppose."

The two slammed back their shots. Katari could tell it immediately affected Syora. She went from sober to tipsy after only one drink. Katari, for her part, was barely affected.

"Are you sure you can hold your drink?"

"What? Of course I can! Bring on the next one."

"If you insist."

Katari poured out two more shots. She picked it up and drank it almost instantly after pouring it. Syora was more hesitant, and her hand was also wavering, but she slowly raised the glass to her mouth and drank it in a long sip.

"I'm going to stop now," Syora said. "Maybe if I stop when I'm still conscious I'll remember that I actually can't hold my drink. You win."

"I did warn you."

"That you did. Here, take this."

Syora dropped one of the slips of parchment about a foot away from Katari's outstretched hand, then stumbled away and out the door.

* * *

And so the seeds of destiny were sown that night. In time, new heroes would grow from them.


	2. 2: The Party Unites

13 Cloudreach, 9:29 Dragon

Val Royeaux, Orlais

"Ugh."

The address Syora had given was to a street immediately outside the alienage, not too far from the Silver Lion where they had met. Unfortunately, being that close meant the intense smell of the alienage permeated the street. The bad neighborhoods of Val Royeaux didn't smell great on their best day, but this was another level. Katari had a high tolerance for smells and filth – a necessary trait for a mercenary in Thedas – but even then…

After a few more minutes of walking, Katari finally reached the door to building she'd been sent too. She cautiously rapped on the door a few times. There was no response. After waiting until she lost patience, she tried the doorknob and discovered it was unlocked. With a shrug, she pulled the door open and stepped inside.

The building was a single small room with no furniture or windows. The ceiling was low enough that she had to crouch slightly, or her horns would scrape the ceiling. After trying to pace in what little space the room had, she ended up sitting down and closing her eyes in some form of meditation.

* * *

Some minutes later, Katari heard a knock at the door.

"It's open," she said, opening her eyes but not moving.

In came a bald human she didn't recognize – Tarsian Aventus. He seemed to recognize her, though.

"Ah, the Qunari from the bar last night. The elven lass who tried to recruit us cast a wider net than she claimed, it seems."

"No, I'm not."

With genuine surprise on his face, Tarsian responded, "Really? I mean, my memory isn't perfect but there can only be so many–"

"That's not what I meant. I was that 'Qunari' you saw. But I'm not Qunari. I am Tal-Vashoth."

"But you're still Qunari, are you not?"

"No. I have not been a Qunari for half a decade."

"Should I get a mirror?"

Katari glared at Tarsian from her position on the floor.

"You seem smart enough that this shouldn't confuse you. I am of the race you call Qunari, but I am Tal-Vashoth."

"That just seems like a distinction without difference."

"Only to one who is not of either the Qun or the Tal-Vashoth. It makes all the difference to me. But luckily for you, I can be calm when I'm not fighting. Some Tal-Vashoth would have your head."

Tarsian blanched slightly before nodding. Clearly uninterested in further conversation, he began tapping his fingers along his staff.

* * *

Not too long later, another human walked in, not knocking.

"Tarsian!" Garrick said with a grin. "I didn't know if you'd come too. And–" he pointed at the Qunari, "–no, don't tell me – Katari, a Tal-Vashoth. Former mercenary and prodigious drinker."

Katari stared at him for a few seconds as he waited for a response.

"You know," she finally answered, "just because someone says things in public doesn't mean it's normal to listen in on them."

"This is Orlais. Knowledge is power, especially here. And I'm a student. I call it research."

"Well, I call it creepy."

"Come on. You can't complain about someone listening to and remembering things you say in public, loudly."

Katari sighed.

"At least you already know what a Tal-Vashoth is. Explaining that a third time in a day would be torturous."

"Of course not. 'True grey ones', rebels from the Qun. They don't call it the best institute of learning in Thedas for nothing. Now, I think introductions should be in order. My name is Garrick Joyse, heir to the Gwaren merchant family of the same name, student of the University of Orlais."

"Not much of an introduction when you already know who I am. Katari."

Garrick offered his hand. Katari took it, used it to pull herself up – seeming to nearly rip Garrick's arm from his socket in the process – and finally shook it.

"If that's what we're doing, I am Tarsian Aventus of Vyrantium. I am a mage, not a magister. It's incredibly unlikely I will ever be a magister." He shot a pointed glance to Katari. "Hopefully our present company will be able to comprehend that level of subtlety."

"Better than you can, Vint. Now, tell me, I'm interested. Have you ever interacted with a Qunari?"

"No."

"Do you know how they treat their mages?"

"They oppress them but still use them as attack dogs whenever a fight comes. In that way they're much like the southerners."

In the background, Katari saw Garrick look as if he was offended, think for a second, and finally shrug.

Katari smirked at Tarsian.

"You don't know the half of it. If you were born under the Qun… or they came to you… you'd have your lips sewn shut and your tongue cut out so that you couldn't corrupt others with your evil. You'd constantly be under the 'supervision' of someone who makes southern templars look like the pinnacle of mage tolerance. You'd be expected to kill yourself or submit to execution if you were ever separated. You would be called _saarebas_, 'dangerous thing'. And that's all you would be."

Tarsian just stared dumbfounded at the Qunari.

"Heh, makes the complaints about your home life look really petty, doesn't it?" interjected Garrick.

"I'm surprised they don't teach you these things in school as children. Count your blessings, is all I'm saying."

Katari sat back down and once again closed her eyes, done talking for the moment. Despite this, Garrick was still interested to talk to her.

"You know, I heard at a party once a story about your mercenaries, Vash-something, his mother hired you. He said she was traumatized for days but totally satisfied with the result…"

* * *

All three of the room's inhabitants were on edge when another knock came from the door. Tarsian was standing closest, so he took a step and opened it up. Standing there was an elf with dark circles under his eyes, wearing a large backpack and constantly glancing around. When he saw Tarsian, the elf's eyes instantly zeroed in on him with venom in his gaze.

Without a word, he forcefully pushed past Tarsian and took a seat on one of the few free spots on the floor, setting his backpack on his lap.

"I thought there was something wrong with that woman. If she was interested in people like you, I was right."

"Hello to you too," said Garrick cautiously.

Without moving his gaze, the elf said, "I'm watching you, Vint. And this whole situation had better be worth it."

Garrick took a small step toward the elf and carefully began to speak.

"So… if we might be working together, we should have an understanding. Could you at least tell me your name?"

He still didn't break his gaze from Tarsian, but he answered with a bitterly sarcastic edge.

"You can call me Rev. But if you say 'elf', I'll probably respond out of habit."

With that, a period of awkward silence began until Rev spoke up of his own volition.

"Qunari. My master always hated your kind. So maybe if you don't push your slave cult too hard, we might get along pretty well."

Katari opened her eyes and glanced at Rev.

"You don't need to worry about the slave cult, but that's because I'm not actually a Qunari. I'm a rebel from their kind."

"Well, he might have hated your kind too. Ever kill any Vints?"

"Female Qunari don't serve in the military. And my time as a mercenary has been spent far from Tevinter lands."

Rev nodded, clearly getting more relaxed.

"Shame. So what should I call you?"

"Katari."

"That's a nice name."

"It means 'killer'."

Rev's eyes widened slightly, but he relaxed quickly.

"All right then. Is that a name you were… born with?"

Katari shook her head.

"No. I had two names as a Qunari. One of which I never knew and one that I'll never accept again."

"I actually did something very similar when I escaped Tevinter. 'Revashiral' is what I call myself. I've managed to collect a few fragments of Elven, and that was the result. It means 'journey to freedom'. Or at least that's what I meant it to mean."

Katari smiled and cocked her head a bit.

"That actually is a nice name."

"Thank you."

At the same time, Garrick had been tapping the tips of his fingers together, clearly agitated.

"She said noon, right? Meet here at noon. That has to have passed already. It wasn't too far before noon when I left. Where is she?"

Katari answered, her eyes once again closed.

"She's going to be here. You don't hire someone only to not show up, unless you just like screwing with strangers. I didn't get a feeling like that from her."

"It would help if there was one single window in this building. I'm checking outside."

Shooing Tarsian out of the way, Garrick approached the door, opened it, and looked around outside. The other three saw him dart his eyes back and forth until suddenly stopping. His eyes widened, and after a brief moment of waiting and looking he slammed the door closed and turned back to the group.

"Dammit, I knew she should have picked a better place for this. Listen up, all! Our contact is currently being harassed by a group just down the street. Three human males, drunk, unarmed but aggressive and getting more so. I, for one, am going to go rescue her, but you all can do what you want."

Without waiting for a response, Garrick turned back around, opened the door, and then began walking quickly across the street and going behind the buildings on the other side. Before the door was even closed behind him, Revashiral had his dagger out and was sprinting through the opening and then, after a brief glance from side to side, straight down the street.

"Do you… actually need help to stand up?" asked Tarsian hesitantly.

"No, I was just messing with him. Go. I'll follow."

Tarsian walked out and circled around their current building to come at them from another direction. Katari stood up and stepped out in order to walk toward the altercation, following behind Revashiral, but more slowly.

Revashiral was the first to get close to the group. Syora shouted for help when she saw him. He brandished his dagger toward the nearest man he saw.

"Get away from her!"

The man just laughed at him. Slightly slurring his words and in a thick accent, he responded, "What are you going to do to stop us? You're outnumbered three to one and the guards will kill a knife-ear who so much as touches a human."

From the other side of Syora, one of his companions interjected, "What do you care anyway? Because she's an elf? I don't care about every back-alley whore in Val Royeaux just because they're human."

This elicited more laughter from the others.

The one Revashiral had tried to threaten threw a sloppy punch at him, but in his drunken state, missed totally. Behind him, the other two grabbed Syora and held her in place. She wriggled and tried to pull herself free, but to no avail.

Behind the group, Revashiral could see Garrick sneaking up. After noticing him, the elf carefully averted his gaze. At this point, Katari had gotten close enough to the thugs to speak to them.

"You don't want to lay a hand on my friend here," she warned, pointing to Syora.

The man in front made a dismissive gesture toward the Qunari.

"And who are you to tell me what I do and don't want, ox-bitch?"

From behind, the man with Syora's arms pinned added, "Get out of here. Killing a human because of an elf will get you executed, even if you're a human, much less… whatever you are."

He was interrupted to an elbow to the face from Syora, which caused him to lose his grip. She tried to run, but the third man still had her grappled, and she couldn't escape his grip.

Revashiral held up his knife a few inches away from the thug in front of him's face. The two stared each other down.

"This is your last chance to end things peacefully," the elf warned.

The man chuckled.

"You're bluffing. You aren't willing to die for her. I can see it in your eyes."

"You don't know me."

"No, but I know knife-ears. You'll always save yourselves."

Revashiral faked a jab with his dagger. The man flinched, then swung back with a heavy punch that would have struck home had the elf not dodged. He was knocked off balance.

"I thought you said you were willing to do it?" the human spat.

Whatever response Rev might have had was cut short by a noise behind them, where Garrick had grabbed one of the men from behind and had the blade of his shortsword to his throat.

"Let me make something clear," Garrick hissed into the thug's ear. "If anyone in your group harms that woman, I won't hesitate for a second to slit your throat. My family can bribe every guard from here to Halamshiral if necessary, and they'd do it."

Unwilling to even speak for how close the blade was to his neck, the man just nodded slightly but rapidly and whimpered.

"I heard you mention odds before," Katari said, addressing the man still holding on to Syora. "Well, now you're outnumbered three to two. And you're unarmed against two armed opponents and a Qunari." She said the last word with barely disguised disgust, but this wasn't the time for etymological debate. "Do you like those odds?"

Swaying slightly from the drink but still maintaining a tight grip, the man responded, "Yes, I think I do. The lowest and least-trained Orlesian would be more than a match for the likes of you."

Legitimately taken aback, Katari stared for a moment before flatly saying, "You must be joking."

Before he could respond, a bolt of blue-white light slammed into the ground a short distance away from the thugs' feet. When it hit, it released a soft booming noise and a flash of light.

"_Magic? _Shit!"

Both men who were still mobile immediately began running. As he released Syora, one yelled, "This bitch isn't worth it!"

Tarsian walked out from a nearby alley, smirking.

"Ah, the 'shoot magic at the ground near them' trick. Never fails against cowardly pieces of scum like this."

The man still with a sword to his neck managed to work up the courage to speak.

"Are- are you going to let me go now?"

Garrick quickly lowered his sword and sheathed it while at the same time, raising his other arm and catching the man in a neck hold.

"Not yet. Tell me, what's your name?"

"Michel."

Garrick tightened his grip, blocking the man's breathing for a few seconds.

"You're lying! I can tell when you lie. Don't try it." He loosened his hold enough for the man to speak again.

"All right! All right, it's Guillaume."

"And what were you doing out here today, Guillaume? Don't lie."

"Me and my friends were out, we were drunk, and we saw an opportunity. No one cares about the knife-ears."

After deliberating, Garrick finally released Guillaume and pushed him away hard enough he almost fell to the ground.

"Get out of here. And if I ever see you again–"

"You don't need to worry about that. Trust me."

He ran away.

"Yeah, right. 'Trust.' He'd better not… ugh," Garrick muttered to himself.

Meanwhile, Revashiral was looking over Syora.

"Are you unharmed?"

"Mostly, I think," she answered. "A few bruises, maybe, but nothing that I can't recover from. Praise Andraste you saw it when you did. A few more minutes and…"

She pulled Revashiral into a tight hug.

"Um, it actually wasn't… eh." He decided that in her current state, it would probably be better to just humor her. Though clearly uncomfortable, rather than arguing, he just gave her a few awkward pats on the back and waited for it to be over.

"No one ever appreciates the mages," Tarsian observed sarcastically before turning to go back to the meeting point.

After far too long, Syora broke off and gestured the party back to the building where they were supposed to meet. As he walked, Garrick gave Revashiral a sidelong glance, which was responded to with a confused shrug.

"Come on. Time's wasting."


	3. 3: Syora's Mission

**AN: Sorry for the much longer delay for the third chapter compared to the second. I've been really busy with school. I'm going to try to get future chapters posted in a more timely manner, but we'll see. I've also updated Chapter 1's dramatis personae with this chapter's new character, as I will in the future.**

* * *

13 Cloudreach, 9:29 Dragon

Val Royeaux, Orlais

The five of them were gathered in the small building where they had agreed to meet. It was quite cramped for that number of people. Katari was once again sitting on the ground, with the other three standing around in a rough circle and Syora leaning back against the door. Syora had taken out a lock and attached it to the door.

"Do you think that had anything to with… whatever it is you're hiring us for?" Garrick asked.

"I don't know," Syora replied hesitantly. "I must have crossed this way a hundred times in the past and never had something like this happen to me. It could be related, I suppose, but those men seemed, ah, genuine in their intentions. I guess I should watch my back in the future."

With a slight edge of impatience to his voice, Tarsian interjected, "If we're all fine here now, why don't you explain why you've brought us here? Apart from being your bodyguards."

"Unless you want us to be your bodyguards," Katari remarked. "I'd be up for it. Easier than some jobs I've done."

"Right, right…"

Syora trailed off as she heard behind her the rattling sound of someone trying to open a locked door. After a few seconds, the rattling turned into a loud pounding as whoever was outside was knocking hard on the door. All the others in the room drew their weapons and readied themselves.

"Tarsian! Tarsian Aventus! You Tevinter bastard, come out here!" screamed a woman's voice in thickly accented Trade Tongue.

Both Garrick and Tarsian seemed to recognize the voice, with Tarsian in particular cringing on hearing it.

In as quiet a voice as he could while still being audible, Tarsian told the group, "I'm sorry. I would have mentioned this but I really didn't think it would come out."

"This is probably my fault," Garrick said.

"Ah, not quite," Tarsian responded. He turned to the group as a whole to continue. "You see, last night once our elven possible employer here finished talking, Garrick thought he'd play matchmaker and introduce me to a colleague of his from the University. She's the third child of a politically powerful Grey Warden in the Anderfels."

From outside came more yelling.

"I know you're in there! I saw you go in. Don't pretend you're not there!"

Meanwhile, Tarsian continued.

"All he told me about her was that she was attractive and interested in magic, so I thought 'why not?'. Things went all right at first, but the conversation took a… strange turn and she started asking me questions about blood magic and demons. Thought I had some kind of special knowledge, being Tevinter. I never got the impression she was actually dangerous, but it made me profoundly uncomfortable. I eventually saw an opportunity and made my exit."

Garrick punched him on the arm a bit too hard to be a joke.

"Really? Really, I vouch for you and then you just leave her without even a goodbye?"

"Like I said, I didn't think it would come back up."

At this point, Revashiral had nudged Syora a bit to the side and had his ear to the door.

"She's alone. Doesn't sound armed or armored, but she's not going to leave anytime soon," he told Tarsian.

"Yes, yes. Time to face the pyre. I don't suppose any of you carry alcohol with you? A bit wouldn't go amiss right now. No? All right, then."

He gestured to the lock on the door, and Syora obliged and removed it.

"If I'm still alive in an hour, feel free to fill me in on this job. I'm still interested."

He then opened the door, revealing an attractive but very angry young woman with cold blue eyes and platinum blonde hair.

"You-"

"Ah," Tarsian interrupted, holding up a finger. "This isn't a conversation to have around prying ears."

The woman glared at him for a long moment before grabbing him by the arm and pulling him away hard. The door swung back closed behind them. Syora reattached the lock to the door and waited for about ten seconds before finally speaking again.

"Is anything else going to happen to interrupt this? No? Good. Now that all that's done – one of you can get the message to him, yes? – we can begin the discussion at hand. Before I go any further, I must swear each of you to secrecy. These are sensitive matters, and should you reject my offer or fail to complete it, I want a guarantee you'll tell no one of this.

"I swear," said Revashiral after barely a moment's hesitation.

"I was a mercenary," Katari said. "Think I would have gotten anywhere in that job without discretion? I can keep your secrets."

With significantly more hesitation than the other two, Garrick finally replied, "I suppose. If whatever you're talking about is secretive enough for information about to be valuable, I don't know if I want to be associated with it anyway."

Syora took a deep breath before launching into her explanation.

"Good, good. Now, I want you to hear out everything I'll say before responding. I know it sounds… unusual.

"I originally came from a Dalish clan that's passed through this region a few times. I haven't actually been a part of it for quite a few years, but we still keep in touch. A few months ago, some of them were set upon by Orlesian chevaliers."

She spat on the floor in disgust.

"They claim to be knights in shining armor, but they're just bandits with more expensive gear and the backing of a nation. Anyway, these chevaliers accused some members of my clan of terrible crimes. A farmer's young daughter had been kidnapped, murdered, and butchered. Complete bullshit. No Dalish would ever do something like that, especially with no provocation, but they wouldn't hear it. They slew one who tried to resist them and took the rest – six, as best as my contacts could tell. They were taken to this city and they'll be executed a week from today. I've tried to find people – strong, brave men and women like yourselves – willing to bring justice to my former kin."

Several seconds of silence seemed to last much longer than that. Finally, the other elf responded.

"I've seen enough elves slaughtered by humans who thought they were nothing for one lifetime. And I don't have anything tying me here. I want to be out of this place the second I can. You can count me in."

Katari spoke up next.

"I don't know how useful I can be in a stealth mission, and I definitely don't recommend the direct approach here, but if the money is good, and the cause is good, I'll help out however I can.

Three pairs of eyes focused on the remaining human in the room. Garrick had been leaning against the wall, but after hearing Syora's mission, had slowly slid backwards until he fell into a seated position. He was staring intently at nothing in particular, looking deep in thought. When he finally spoke, it was with a slight waver in his voice and watery eyes.

"I… I can't… I have… a life here. The university, a girl I think I might have a real future with. My parents worked so hard to…"

An edge of cold anger cut into his voice.

"Why? Why did you have to… Andraste's blood, I was living in blissful ignorance! But you decided to bring me into this. And why? Because I argued with someone in front of you?"

With his gaze locked straight ahead, he softly muttered, "If you ruin my life, I'm taking you with me. No matter what it takes. And that's a promise."

"Is that a yes?" asked Syora.

Garrick rolled his eyes and glared directly at her.

"Of course it is."

"You won't regret this," she said gently.

"Yes, well, you'd better hope I don't. For both of our sakes."

A long silence commenced.

* * *

Outside, in the streets, Tarsian and the Ander woman – her name was Korinne Tettingen – were walking and conversing in hushed tones.

"…and I spent over an hour alternating between tears and rage. I need to buy a new training dummy. How could you do something like that?" she asked.

"I don't know if you'll believe when I say this, but I'm sorry. It was a rash decision and I shouldn't have done it."

She turned to him with a look of slight confusion.

"That's not an answer. _Why_ did you do it? What did I do?"

"It wasn't…" Tarsian caught himself. "Well, it was you. But it was also me. Look, you know that I'm Tevinter, yes?"

"Of course."

"I…" he paused to try to figure out how to phrase his thoughts. "I think you have the wrong impression of Tevinters. Or at least ones like me."

"Elaborate."

Tarsian held out his arm in front of her. The two of them stopped and he looked her in the eyes.

"Korinne, do you think I'm a blood mage?"

She looked shocked and horrified.

"What? Of course not. I would have called the templars if I thought that."

"The questions you asked me last night reminded me of the worst of Tevinter. I've seen innocent men and women have their throats slit for vanity projects and pointless research. You didn't know the reality of what you were talking and it… made me uncomfortable. I just couldn't handle it. When I saw an opportunity… well, like I said, it was a mistake."

Korinne's eyes widened and then she put her head in her hand, crestfallen.

After it was clear Tarsian didn't have more to say, she finally responded.

"I didn't even realize… I study magical theory, you see, and when I met a mage – not only a mage, but one of a different tradition than any I'd met before… I suppose I must have seen you as nothing more than a new reference book. I should have realized how talking like that would make you feel."

"Yes, well, there was a lot of disregarding of people's feelings last night."

The pair began walking again. Korinne leaned in a bit closer and asked a question in a quiet voice.

"Tell me, last night, before talk turned to magic… how was it? The food, the drink, the conversation, what did you think of it? And of me?"

Tarsian chuckled.

"I thought you were a marvelous young woman with a keen intellect who I very much enjoyed spending time with."

In a mock whisper, he added, "And not bad to look at either."

That successfully elicited a laugh from Korinne.

With a small smile on her face, she asked, "Would you be willing to give me a second chance?"

Tarsian regarded her for a moment, before responding in a serious voice.

"I committed the far greater crime. It really should be me asking you if I can have a second chance."

"But of course you already know the answer to that question."

"Indeed I do. Now, my companions will be waiting for me. I've already been gone a while. So… until we meet again."

He nodded toward her and turned to leave. Before he could begin walking, he heard Korinne's voice behind him.

"Wait!"

She grabbed Tarsian by the shoulder and turned him around before planting a deep kiss on his lips. His eyes widened briefly, but he didn't fight it. When it was over, he was dumbfounded for a moment before making a retort.

"Well, this all seems a bit sudden!" he said with mock seriousness. "We've only known each other a day!"

And with that, he gave a wave, turned around, and began running back toward the meeting spot.


	4. 4: A Complication

**AN: Been a while, I know. I'm still not making any promises about when, if ever, I'll upload next, but I've started playing the game that this is based on again. I still have a backlog, so updates (if they happen) will happen based on free time and motivation moreso than the speed at which I play.**

* * *

13 Cloudreach, 9:29 Dragon

Val Royeaux, Orlais

Things were oddly quiet in the Silver Lion for the time of day it was – well past dusk. The inside of the tavern was dominated by a man dressed in elaborate, brightly colored robes. He was drinking extremely expensive liquor out of what looked to be a goblet he brought personally to use. The man made casual conversation with both his companions – servants of some kind, it appeared – and any passersby. He seemed quite jovial, but with an odd, aggressive edge that came out every once in a while. His eyes had dark circles under them and an almost manic glint. Everyone else in the building seemed to be watching him, talking about him, or both.

"Everyone" including a Qunari woman and a scarred, powerfully built elf.

"He's Tevinter. Got to be," Katari muttered.

"Obviously," Revashiral replied drily. "Nowhere else in Thedas would you see mage robes with such a combination of extravagance and poor taste."

The Qunari stared at him for a long moment.

"I, uh… can't say I expected to hear fashion criticism from someone like you."

"Believe me, I didn't ask for it. Get Almadrius drunk enough, and he'll talk about anything and everything. He has… strong opinions on Tevinter fashions. For his many faults, as least he cares a little bit about subtlety."

"Huh. Interesting. So, do you want to 'talk' to him?"

Rev glanced up from his drink.

"What, seriously? No. And it was stupid of me to do it last night. Could have gotten me killed. I only did it because I had a lot more alcohol in me than I do now, and the person I confronted wasn't so obviously a magister."

"You can tell he's a magister just by his clothes?" Katari asked with a mix of skepticism and playfulness.

"No. Well, I mean, yes – no one else from Tevinter would be dressed like _that_! – but that's not the only evidence. His bearing, the way he talks, the way he looks… I saw a lot of magisters. I can recognize one from a mile away."

"Huh. Well, all right then. Could be a useful talent to have if we work together in the future."

"I hope not. If I never see another magister in my life, it will be too soon," Rev spat.

"Hey now," Katari said gently. "No need to be mad at me. We're all friends here. Or at least not enemies."

Rev took a deep, slow breath and responded.

"Yes, of course. I believe we had a little wager?"

"If I remember correctly, it was five silvers to whoever could drink the most."

"I could have sworn I negotiated for better odds."  
"Well, you'll lose anyway, so it's a moot point."

Rev gave her a not-entirely-serious glare and said, "Just pour the drinks."

Katari poured out two shots of some sort of opaque brown liquor. She effortlessly tossed hers back while pushing the other over to Rev. The elf drank it and was immediately forced to clamp his mouth shut so he didn't spit it out. His face contorted in disgust. After several seconds, he finally swallowed and coughed a few times.

"Maker's breath, what do they _put_ in this stuff?" he asked. "Darkspawn piss? Month-old blood?"

Smirking, Katari replied, "I've learned in my time as a mercenary that swill is an… acquired taste, let's say."

"Ugh, you can say that again. Another!"

* * *

Elsewhere in the city, Garrick was walking down the street, dressed in nondescript clothing. To a casual observer, he would have looked to just be take a nighttime stroll, but a more tactical eye could see him flitting his eyes back and forth, scouting the area for threats. And, of course, he had his shortsword on his hip.

Garrick knew he was taking a risk with what he was doing, but he hoped to avoid a larger risk later. His plan was to scout out the area surrounding the prisons to see if there were any vulnerabilities in the building's defenses or anything else that could prove useful. He always enjoyed sneaking around without getting caught anyway. Unfortunately, there was a factor he wasn't prepared for…

"Ser! Ser! You there, what are you doing here?" rang out a stern voice.

Garrick snapped his attention to the figure of a guardsman emerging from the shadows. He was caught totally flatfooted. He had been scouting out the immediate area he was in, but he hadn't expected to need to keep an eye out for guards for another block at least. As he squinted through the dark, Garrick could see at least another half dozen silhouettes patrolling the streets in front of him.

"I was just… taking a walk. And I paused a moment to take a rest," Garrick answered hesitantly.

"Taking a walk right past the prisons, skulking in the shadows?" the guard snapped. "A likely story."

"I've crossed by this way a few times in the past and it's never been a problem. Is there something unusual going on?" Garrick didn't expect an answer, but he thought he had to try.

"That's none of your business. All that you need to know is that I'm ordering you to leave. This moment. And if I catch you around here again, you'll get a good look at the building from the inside. Am I clear?"

"Crystal," Garrick answered coolly.

"Good. Then get out of here." The guard made a dismissive gesture the way Garrick had come.

Garrick gave a quick nod and immediately turned heel and started walking quickly in the other direction. Something strange was going on, and he knew one place he could probably find the people he was working with…

* * *

"This is where I'm going to have to bow out," Revashiral said, slurring his words a bit. "Even if I could still handle the alcohol, if I need to drink another drop of this shit, I'm going to vomit."

A dozen or so shot glasses were scattered across the table between the pair.

"So soon?" asked Katari. She seemed slightly tipsy, but nowhere close to Rev.

"Don't push your luck."

"OK, OK," the Qunari replied, putting up her hands in mock defeat. "Are you going to be leaving, then?"

"Only if you give me a reason to. We're working together. Let's just talk. You can keep drinking if you want. It's not my money."

"All right, then. Why don't you tell me a story from your life? That's something I love about talking to southerners. They live such interesting lives."

"I'm _not_ a southerner. I was born and raised in Tevinter."

"You're all southerners to us."

"Who's 'us'?"

"Ah, fair point," Katari relented. "Still, you must have something interesting to tell."

"'Interesting.' Yeah, you could say that," Rev snorted. "I was a _slave_."

"Oh. Well. Um, sorry. I probably should have put two and two together there."

"Don't worry about it," Rev said. "If I was sensitive about stuff like that, I wouldn't have made it this far. How about you? Surely a mercenary captain, a Qunari rebel in southern Thedas, must have more interesting stories than someone like me."

"The first 20-odd years of my life were remarkably boring, actually," Katari replied. "The Qun provides purpose to those who accept it, but you're expected to do the same thing for your entire life. For me, that thing was agriculture. I grew grain on a farm outside Kont-aar, in Rivain."

"I suppose I'm not one to talk, but farming hardly seems like a normal background for an adventurer. What changed?"

"Well, I was never as receptive to the Qun as others, or as I let on. I had my doubts since I was young, but I kept them to myself. Openly rejecting the Qun means reeducation, at best. Death or _qamek_ at worst. When I met my _kadan_, though, I could no longer keep it to myself."

Seeing the confusion on the elf's face, she quickly continued.

"I'm sorry, that was… _Kadan_ is a word with several meanings, but the closest translation is 'heart'. In both a literal and figurative sense. When I was with him, I knew that everything I had ever been taught was a lie. There's no place for romantic love under the Qun, you see. Friendship, sure. Brotherhood, maybe. But love is a useless distraction, and sex is the business of the Tamassrans.

"The two of us were together, in secret. It lasted close to a year, but we were young, and we made mistakes. We were… incautious, I suppose, is the right word. And when I became pregnant, it could no longer be denied."

"So what happened then?" Rev asked, riveted on the story.

Katari continued, in a significantly more melancholy tone.

"I never saw my _kadan_ again. The Ben-Hassrath took me in for reeducation. I probably could have reentered society if it weren't for my recalcitrance. But that was never going to happen. After a few months, I got the feeling they saw me as a lost cause. And…" She paused for a long moment before taking a deep breath and continuing. "When my child was born, they blindfolded me and took him or her away immediately. I…" Her voice broke slightly on the word. "I thought it was a girl, but… Anyway. After that happened, they made a fresh attempt at reeducation. I resisted even more strongly at first but eventually started to pretend I was relenting. When I let my guard down, I overpowered my guards, stole a horse, and rode off toward Antiva."

Rev took a moment to let the story fully sink in.

"…Wow," he said blandly. "I mean… I'm sorry, really, that is a great story. I just have too much shitty liquor in me to react properly."

"It's not one I tell to many. You're the first I've told it too who isn't my comrade-in-arms. Yet, anyway. But if we're working together…" She shrugged. "Might as well."

"Well then," Rev said. "I don't have the skill or the story to compare, but after all that, I owe you an attempt.

"10 months, 12 days ago, my master had taken me to the border of Tevinter and the Anderfels. Some kind of tournament was being planned in the city of Kassel, and Almadrius had gotten a whim to get me some more training and enter me. I don't know why; I didn't understand half of what he did. Heard once he only became a magister because his parents were friends with the old Archon. But that's how it goes, you know? For my part, I didn't care much. It seemed like a break from the monotony. But that night, I overheard him talking to someone – a prostitute, I think – saying that depending on my showing in the tournament, he was going to bleed me for some ritual he was planning. I didn't get all the details since he had a bottle and a half of wine in him, but I heard enough. When he was asleep, I started running, and I didn't stop until I reached a city. The Anders have no particular sympathy for elves, but they don't have slaves."

"How were you able to escape?" Katari asked. "Seems like piss-poor security."

Rev waved his hand dismissively.

"He was drunk. And incompetent. Plus, he probably thought it was too far and too dangerous to get anywhere from where we were."

"Too dangerous?"

"In the Anderfels, they haven't forgotten the Blight like they have in the south and even Tevinter. The scars have never disappeared. And you can still find darkspawn on the surface."

"Did you see any?"

Wordlessly, the elf rolled up his sleeve, revealing a long scar running down his right arm.

"Two of them. The big ones that look like humans. I didn't have any armor, was armed with only a nearby tree branch, and I hadn't slept in about 30 hours or eaten in 20. I'm still not completely sure how I got away."

He pointed down at the scar on his arm.

"Or how not a drop of darkspawn blood got in that. I'd be long since dead or worse if it had. I've never been much one for religion, but I can't avoid the idea that the Maker smiled on me."

Revashiral trailed off slightly at the end of his story. He was staring past Katari toward a figure moving toward the bar.

"Looks like our mutual friend is here. And he doesn't look like he's here for pleasure. Looks like we need to cut this short."

Katari turned her head to match Rev's gaze.

"I'll be ready to go. Try to sober up the best you can fast. You know, just in case."

* * *

Garrick swept his gaze over the Silver Lion as he entered.

_Man in fancy robes, center of attention of the tavern. Some kind of mage, probably. Not an immediate threat unless there's something I don't know._

_The elf and Qunari, talking, drinking. They seem to be like each other. Good, one fewer pair that wants to kill each other in this group._

_And there's Syora. Good. Wish Tarsian were here, but you can't have everything._

Garrick walked up to the bar.

"Who's that?" he asked, gesturing toward the robed man.

"Some Tevinter big shot," the bartender shrugged. "I don't know how comfortable I feel having him here, but he's spent more money than I made the whole rest of the night, so he can stay."

"Good to know. I'll have my usual."

"Not until I get my money. You know I don't hold tabs for more than one visit."

"Huh? Oh, right." Garrick fished a coin purse out of his pocket. "For yesterday and for today."

The bartender pushed a mug of ale across the bar.

"Thanks. Have you seen my friend here tonight? The one from yesterday, pale, bald, black cloak?"

"Not since then."

Garrick took a long swig from his mug and put it back down.

"You can watch this, right?" he asked.

A single curt nod.

Garrick walked across the room and leaned in close to Syora to whisper her a message.

"We need to get out of here. There are some things I need to tell you."

The elf nodded, immediately serious.

"Lead the way."

"Do you have a good place to go?" Garrick asked.

"The building we met in earlier. It's no more than a ten-minute walk."

Garrick nodded.

"Let's go different paths and meet up there. This whole situation is making me paranoid."

"Yes, all right."

"You wait a bit and leave. I'll finish my drink and go."

Syora gave a quick nod and started her drink a bit more quickly. After he knew they were in agreement, Garrick walked back over to the bar and took another sip from his drink.

The bartender voiced a thought cautiously. He seemed to be conflicted on mentioning it.

"I thought you were with a girl from your school. Emma or something."

"What?" Garrick asked, confused. "I… am."

"So then… you two…" He made a back-and-forth gesture between Garrick and Syora, who was now packing up the things she had with her.

Garrick recoiled in shock and spilled a bit of his drink on the counter.

"No. It's not like that. At all."

The bartender cocked a single skeptical eyebrow, shrugged, and pulled out a cloth to clean up the new mess.

Garrick thought for a moment about trying to push the issue, but shook away the thought, finished his drink, and stood up to gather the rest of his group and leave.


End file.
